For Love Of Heaven
by Shila
Summary: After the death of their father, the Saints head to a new city to start cleanup there. But some things aren't as simple as shooting up mafia thugs. Will the twins stay sane when faced with supernatural enemies? LET'S FIND OUT!
1. Prologue: Westward Bound

Well, this bug just bit me in the ass, so here's the start of something.  
Title: For Love Of Heaven  
Rating: PG, so far  
Warning: Uh, none -yet-, but if I keep going there'll be... gore, smut, possibly twincest, who knows?  
Disclaimer: The twins do not belong to me. They're Troy's.

...lucky bastard.

Summary: After the death of their father, the Saints head to a new city to start cleanup there. But some things aren't as simple as shooting up mafia thugs. Will the twins stay sane when faced with supernatural enemies? LET'S FIND OUT!

Prologue

It was a cold day, even for Boston; the air held a sharp bite and the two young men standing in the cemetery both shivered. Perhaps the chill affected them - perhaps it was the grave they stood over. The stone, flawlessly new, was polished to a high shine, and read:

_Aidan MacManus  
__July 17th, 1936 to Oct. 20th, 1999  
__Father, Redeemer, and Saint_

Connor took a last drag off his cigarette and flicked it off into the distance. The earth was freshly turned; the ceremony less than a week ago. And here they were, for the fifth time since, staring down at their Da's grave, wondering what had happened.

Not even six months after their famous debut on national television, they'd gone underground. For every scumbag they got rid of, three more crowded in, intent on claiming the freshly-vacated territory. It had been a ruthless group of yakuza that had finally done the Duke in; the twins had barely escaped with their lives, though none of the enemy had remained alive either.

And now both of them knew - though neither would yet say it - that they were leaving Boston.

With a sigh, Murphy dropped the remnants of his own cigarette and, turning as one, the brothers walked out of St. Augustine's Cemetery. The next morning found them on a westbound train, leaning against one another in the ruddy dawn light, silence hanging over their heads and their bags limp at their feet.

Someone had once told them they belonged in every major city.

It was time to find a new one.

- sin sin - end prologue -


	2. Chapter One: The New Eden Coalition

Title: For Love of Heaven  
Author: Shila/Sarah/BeautifulDorian/Asuza/Entropy/Crazy Jane  
Rating: Overall R, this chapter PG-13  
Warning: Uh, none -yet-, but if I keep going there'll be... gore, smut, possibly twincest, who knows?  
Disclaimer: The twins do not belong to me. They're Troy's.

...lucky bastard.

Summary: After the death of their father, the Saints head to a new city to start cleanup there. But some things aren't as simple as shooting up mafia thugs. Will the twins stay sane when faced with supernatural enemies? LET'S FIND OUT!

For Love of Heaven  
by Asuza

Chapter One: The New Eden Coalition

The dingy basement that was their headquarters was cramped and smelled funny, but none of the five people there complained. Cigarette smoke turned the air gray and none of them looked very pleased.

"Are you -sure-, Remiel? Saints?" Harper Maddock looked skeptical, lounging back in his chair and fiddling with the end of his dark blonde ponytail. The oldest human of their group, he was tall and handsome, and looked rather as though he could handle the sword leaning against his chair without a bit of effort. Making up the raw power division of their little group, the cryokinetic was dangerous with more than physical weapons, but it didn't show in the warm glow of bright golden eyes.

The black-haired angel across the round, unfinished table merely nodded, dark gaze somber. Fallen from grace a long time past, Remiel had long since resigned himself to his demoted status here on earth. Unlike many fallen angels and demons, he still retained some useful powers - such as the sight and the ability to heal. He'd gathered this little group together to help him whittle down the number of demons who weren't so content with their place here on the mortal plane, and so far things had gone well, but something bigger was brewing.

"Visions don't lie," Remiel replied, shrugging. The other members of the New Eden Coalition exchanged looks, and finally the angel's human lover, Jenna, broke the loaded silence.

"Are they on our side in the coming conflict?" she wondered, trying not to sound too hopeful. Warm brown eyes and a powerful streak of telekinesis had long since endeared the angel to her for protection, and they were now deeply in love and were the solid core of the ragtag band of demon hunters.

Tobias perked up at Jenna's side, shamelessly fixing Remiel with the big gray puppy eyes that begged him to answer yes. At seventeen, he was the youngest of them, but with a penchant for powerful magery, he more than pulled his weight, for all he looked harmlessly cute with his round face and platinum blonde hair. Cherubic or not, he was perched on the edge of the table, cigarette in hand, as much a part of the proceedings as any of them. None of them knew much about his past, or where he had come from, and none of them was foolish enough to ask... yet.

The black angel smiled faintly in response. He'd loved humans for a long, long time, but these were some very special ones, and he was so proud of them. "I believe so. They are killers of men, but only evil men. And I foresee them being of aid to us in more ways than one." They all knew that, were he to say anything clearer, that he could well skew what would happen. They also knew that he likely didn't -have- information any clearer than that. Prescience was notoriously unreliable.

The orange tabby cat stretched out on the table gave a loud, demanding meow, staring up at Remiel impatiently with glowing green eyes. Being rather disdainful of his human shape when he didn't have to be in it, Loki relied on his more comfortable natural form here in the hideout. A fluffy tail whipped through the air to thump against the table, as though to accentuate his question.

"I don't know when they'll be here, Loki," Remiel sighed. The shape shifter wouldn't be satisfied with the answer, but then, none of them were, really. "Soon. Before winter hits. Maybe even before All Hallow's Eve."

"Then we haven't got much time to prepare," Harper said with determination, leaning forward in his chair. "We'd better kick shit into high gear. We've got to do some recon on this demon gathering, figure out what they're up to, and how to stop it. There's a bar on the west side of the city that's having a sort of demon clubhouse on Halloween, and we're going to be there..."

The bare bulb overhead burned long into the night.

-------------------------------------------------

"I keep thinkin' roaches are goin' to start crawling out of the sockets," Murphy muttered, surveying their dingy hotel room with a frown. He didn't even want to drop his bag on the floor; the carpet was a sickly, splotchy shade of brown that he suspected was mostly stains of a dubious nature.

Across the room, Connor was already shoving open the window in hopes of airing out the wretched smell. "Wouldn't be fuckin surprised to see rats crawling out of the sockets," he said in plain disgust, turning to eye the pair of beds doubtfully. They were narrow and the pillows looked flat and lifeless.

"You sure you want to stay here, Connor?" Murphy wondered, hesitant to even poke the bed, much less think about sleeping on it.

"By the time we get back from the bar, will we care?" the lighter-haired twin asked with a chuckle, and prodded the bed cautiously with one hand. It actually didn't seem that bad. "I suspect the truly disgustin' beds are in the rooms with just one bed to begin with," he snorted, and dropped his bag on the hideously patterned comforter. "Don't worry about this shit hole. Let's go acquaint ourselves with our new city of choice."

With a snort, Murphy patted down the pockets of his black peacoat for his cigarettes. "Right. Let's."

And they set out into the night to do the kind of research every Irishman had to do on his first night in a new town - that is, it was time to find a good pub.

- end chapter one -

Sin, sin.


	3. Chapter Two: Eight Ball

For Love of Heaven  
by Asuza/Shila/lots of others

for Nanowrimo. 3

Chapter Two: Extenuating Circumstances

"The only thing Irish about this place is the name," was Murphy's disgruntled opinion as they surveyed the bar. Cheap Budweiser signs hung over two old, abused looking pool tables; the cues on the wall looked bowed and unreliable. It didn't smell too good, like stale beer, sweat, and cigarettes, and the fuzzy television up behind the bar blared the football game louder than the country music coming through the shitty speakers at opposite ends of the grimy counter. Small and cramped, the place had the air of someplace you really didn't want to be until you were already too drunk to care. Judging by the looks of the occupants - a few scattered men with uneven beards and stony countenances - such was the case.

Nevertheless, in the row of dusty bottles behind the counter, there was one whose label the Saints recognized. "Aye, but some things are universal," Connor grinned, and bravely took a seat on a stool that wavered under him and squeaked protestingly. "Can we get two doubles o' that there Bushmills'?" he called out hopefully.

The bartender, a young redhead who looked like he would honestly rather be doing anything but endlessly scrubbing chipped mugs with a gray rag, nodded and walked over to them. "Got IDs?" he challenged apathetically, already setting two glasses on the bar in front of them.

Exchanging a pair of amused smiles, they showed him their licenses, and without even really looking at them the guy nodded and picked up the bottle of Irish whiskey from the row. A bit less dusty than some of the others, it was nearly empty. That didn't bother the twins. It just meant the poor lad behind the counter would have to open another bottle soon - and that that one wouldn't be stale.

"That's twelve-fifty," the bartender told them, watching the last of the bottle drip into the second glass. Slapping a fifty on the counter, Connor flashed him a wide smile.

"Howsabout you go find another bottle of that, mate? We'll be here for a while." Grinning at the bored expression on the redhead's face, the brothers laughed as they picked up their glasses. With a wink and a wordless toast, they tossed them back.

The night had begun.

(Several hours later)

"That's -cheatin'-," Murphy protested, watching as Connor poked the cue ball with a fingertip.

Two bottles of whiskey and four games of pool later, they were still in the dingy little taproom, which had gotten a bit more crowded as the night went by. To the dismay of the only two women there, the brothers had ignored everyone but each other and the tender, and had proceeded to get cheerfully drunk and entertain themselves.

Now, leaning over the ratty felt of the ancient pool table, Connor gave his twin a look and held up the cue. "This thing's more bent than Smecker," he said disdainfully, and shook his head. "Sides you're winnin' anyway."

The regulars of the bar, unused to newcomers and strangers, kept eyeing the two of them, but, bollixed as they were, they couldn't have cared less. With four more balls on the table than his brother - Connor was only good at pool when he was still sober - the elder of the two frowned, and attempted to use the use, aiming carefully before he shot.

The cue ball careened forth and ricocheted off of one of Murphy's striped balls before it bounced around the table, knocking it into a hole and scoring a point for his brother. Cursing, Connor watched as it narrowly missed two of his own solids and shot right into the corner pocket.

Laughing, Murphy sauntered to the end of the table. "Scratch," he said teasingly, taking no offense at the middle finger Connor flipped him with a scowl. "You really suck at this game, you know that?"

"Fuck you," Connor muttered, disgruntled, and watched as Murphy carefully set the ball on the table. As much as he sulked outwardly, he wasn't really hurt. No, he was too busy admiring the way Murphy's shirt slid over his back when he leaned over the table to make his shot. In fact, he was so distracted that he didn't notice Murphy had -made- the shot until his twin straightened with a crow of glee. Only then did Connor realize that Murphy had sunk both of his last two balls, and was now homing in on the eight ball with a cocky grin.

Muttering under his breath, Connor watched as his twin lined up effortlessly, the shaky cue not a hindrance. "Eight ball, left corner pocket," he said cheerfully, and sure enough, with a clack of one ball against the next, the eight ball was knocked right down, the cue spinning idly at the ege of the pocket while Connor groaned and Murphy did a drunken victory dance.

"That's five out of five, Connor, you should probably give it up now," Murphy taunted, and merely laughed when his twin thunked the cue down with a vengeance.

"Aye, aye, we'll see who's losin' later at cards," he vowed, but couldn't keep a frown for long in the face of Murphy's bright amusement. Finally he gave in and chuckled, and clapped an arm around his twin's shoulders. "You were good."

Murphy leaned against him easily, and they were both grinning as they went back to the bar for another round. "Aye, I was. Remember when I couldn't beat you at pool, ever."

"You could barely see over the edge of the table," Connor snorted. "Old Man Jacob had to let you stand on a phone book, just to keep you quiet."

"And yet I'm taller than you now," Murphy said with a pleased grin, flopping carelessly onto the stool, which twisted somewhat under him. Not that he noticed, really.

"Like hell if you are!" Connor retorted sharply. "You've never been taller than me, Murph. It's all in your head."

"A spiky hairdo doesn't make you taller'n me," Murphy laughed, and ruffled his brother's hair with a grin. "That's cheatin'."

"Not when I'm still taller than you, bald as a baby's ass!"

By now the bartender was sort of wondering how they didn't fall off their stools, much less keep up this kind of banter, but, he had to admit, they were pretty amusing. Pouring the two men another drink, he shook his head.

Shame they had to kill them, really. They were kinda cute. Although, he supposed, his job as recon allowed him to observe them for a bit before turning them in to his boss, so he didn't have to rat them out just yet.

Besides, the boss would be really upset if it was a false alarm. With a shudder, the human recalled the last time his demonic master had been... upset. No, that was NOT an option. These two looked like habitual drunks, they'd be back.

All he had to do was wait.

--------------------------------------------------


End file.
